For the Love of Glue

Hello Momma, yes I am alive.  I haven't been killed by African bushmen or taken in Paris, so please don't report me missing.  Sorry I haven't blogged in a few days.  The internet is really awful here (first world problems, I know), it goes in and out and I've basically given up on adding pictures to the blog for now because I could literally write a novel in the time it takes for them to upload.

Today we woke up at 5am to feed the street kids again.  Most of them are not actually children but adults living on the street.  There were many more today than there were last week, which I think was really good for them to be able to come together.  Also many more women showed up this time and I had the opportunity to talk to Marcy.  Marcy is 22 and carries her 13 month old baby, Sarah, on her back.  Marcy has been living on the street for 5 years and said the father of her baby is a "mzungu" (which is the Swahili word for white person).  It makes me sad to hear her say that because I know many of the women living on the streets resort to prostitution for money or are raped.  She kept telling me how hard of a life it was to live on the street and asking me to help her find a house for she and her baby to live; she told me she didn't care if the house was hot but that she just wanted to be safe.  Marcy told me that little Sarah was sick and that she won't eat anything but milk, then she later told me that she too was feeling sick.  We were able to give both of them some medicine for their stomachs as well as some bread and milk to eat.  But I think the hardest thing for me this morning was hearing these people's stories and how they are ill, which is so heartbreaking on its own, but then watching them suck the fumes from a bottle of glue to mask the pain.  We were told that they do this to be able to sleep anywhere and to prevent themselves from being hungry, but to watch a mother make herself and her baby sick from the fumes of glue is beyond words for me.  I can't imagine a life like that and wouldn't wish it on anyone, all I or anyone else can do to help these people is pray with them that their life is able to be turned around in some way.

Boniface tells us that many of the people he ministers to on the street have been abused by their parents and choose to leave their homes or their families could no longer to take care of them and were told to leave.  Some leave voluntarily and have a place to go home with a family who loves them, but for whatever reason won't leave the street.  Many get stuck in the streets due to an addiction to glue that decomposes the brain and causes eventual problems down the road.  It's a very sad thing to watch, a cycle that almost refuses to be broken.

This afternoon we held a sports clinic for the street kids at a city park, which was not a sports clinic at all but just playing with them in the light.  Going from the street at 5 in the morning to the park at midday, it was interesting to see actually how filthy these people were.  Many of them shed their dark coats and put down their glue bottles just to play.  Their clothes were ripped, and if they wore shoes at all the shoes were tattered, falling apart, and often not the right size.  In Kenya it is illegal to be homeless so during the day they have to hide or they will be beaten by the city council (and as Marcy told me, they will not only beat you but your baby as well).  Often times homeless people are called "takka" (which means trash), so it was totally evident on their faces how happy they were to play soccer or be paid attention to at all.

I met a woman named Elizabeth shortly before we had to leave, she is also 22.  Elizabeth was asking for ice for her swollen eye, she told me though a translator that she had been beaten by a larger woman.  Later I found out that this larger woman was the mistress of her father's children and apparently was jealous of Elizabeth and the children and chose to beat her.  (Sidenote: If I had to make a guess from her appearance, Elizabeth looked about 10 years old. She was very small and weak.)  Elizabeth told me that her oldest child was 9.  Please think about that for a second a do some math with their ages. Her children live with Elizabeth's parents, who kicked Elizabeth out when she was young and no longer allow her to live there, forcing her to live on the streets.  She asked to help her get home and to pay for her children's school, but  I cannot, so the most we I could do is pray with her.  Elizabeth also carried glue.